


For Years or For Hours

by Asgardianrugbyteam



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, SKAM (France)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Skam France - Freeform, as always grantaire is completely head over heels for enj, awkward teenage boys, skam france enjoltaire au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 23:52:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18766897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asgardianrugbyteam/pseuds/Asgardianrugbyteam
Summary: Piano melodies that defy expectations, or: Grantaire needs beer but is broke, and Enjolras is his saving grace.Inspired bythis wonderful ficby Noor.





	For Years or For Hours

When Bossuet had said it was his turn to pay for the beer for Chetta’s, Grantaire’s mind freaked out. He didn’t have the money on him to buy more, and didn’t have any at his flat. Grantaire’s mind freaked out so badly that he told Joly not to worry when he offered to get them instead, and Grantaire never turned down free beer. Now that he’s sat down and his mind has finished its panic party, he’s coming to the unsurprising realisation that he’s completely fucked. Maybe if Eponine could lend him the money… as the plan starts to form in his head, he notices another person stood at the bus stop who seems to be looking at him, wearing a very distinctive jacket that immediately makes his palms sweat.

“Grantaire? Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he can’t stop his voice from cracking slightly as he looks up, “yeah, I’m great.”

The smile he quickly plasters on must look even less convincing than it feels, because instead of turning away Enjolras sits on the seat next to him and continues to stare. Grantaire’s smile drops and as much as he wants to look away, he can’t bring himself to, never seems to be able to when it’s Enjolras he’s looking at.

“Is there a problem?” Enjolras is giving him this look, the one that always makes Grantaire confess, that would most likely make Grantaire do anything for him. There’s just something about the softness at the edges of his eyes that betrays Enjolras’s seemingly sincere concern, and drags him in every time. One day, one day, he’d get over this feeling.

He sighs.

“It’s just, I told Bossuet I’d bring beer to the party tonight, but I don’t have any and I don’t have the money to get more right now.” He rolls his eyes at himself before he even realises it’s happening. Enjolras really couldn’t care less about his issues buying beer. “It’s not that much of a problem, I know.” When he looks over at Enjolras, he doesn’t expect blue eyes to be looking right back him. Enjolras seems ready to say something, then squints, and - heavens above - smiles at him.

“I have some if you want? I can lend you some.”

Really, Grantaire should have expected that he’d offer this. Enjolras is so incredibly generous and giving, but he’s not usually like this to Grantaire, and accepting would be out of their strange delicately balanced pattern.

“I couldn’t borrow your money Enjolras, I don’t know when I’d be able to give it back.”

“No, no, I don’t have any money either,” Enjolras is smiling slightly, and Grantaire feels his nervousness ease, “but I do have some beers Courf left at mine not that long ago? They’d be good, right?”

“They, yeah, they’d be great,” Grantaire’s going to freak out again, for the second time in five minutes. “Are you sure that’s okay?”

Enjolras is smiling as he pulls his backpack on over his red jacket, standing as the bus pulls up in front of them. “Of course it’s okay, Grantaire, I only live two stops away. It’s not a problem.” Enjolras stops in the open door of the bus. “Are you coming?” Then, like always, he turns away. Grantaire, like always, follows Enjolras, and steps onto the bus.

Enjolras’s building is nice. Fancy. It gives the distinct impression that Grantaire couldn’t pay for half an inch of it, and that Enjolras’s parents have posh jobs to go alongside their posh house. As he climbs the stairs behind Enjolras he can’t help but feel like this is a place he could never belong in.

When Enjolras opens the door, he immediately turns back to Grantaire with a bowed head and a little smile, “After you.”

“Thanks.”

The inside is also nice, but not as fancy. He’s drawn to the first room he sees - the living room? - which looks far more homely than the ice palace he’s been creating in his head. He’s not really surprised; this is Enjolras after all, Grantaire should have known he’d like it. Enjolras walks through a door into a different room as he takes in the soft sofa, the chairs, the fireplace, and the drawings on the wall.

There’s a clinking sound and he can hear Enjolras coming into the room. “So, this is all I have, will it be enough?”

“Uh,” he turns, still thinking of the drawings, to a table covered in beers, “yes, yes, that’s more than enough. What kind of party was Courf at?”

Enjolras laughs and Grantaire’s heart soars at the same time his stomach twists. _Shit._

“I’m not sure you want to know.”

There’s a moment of silence once he stops speaking, just looking at each other, and Grantaire takes the chance to change the subject before he says something embarrassing.

“These are really good,” he says, stepping closer to get a better look at the little animals pinned against the paint.

“Thanks,” Enjolras smiles and steps into place next to him. “I think I’m getting better at drawing myself.”

Himself? Grantaire runs that through his head a couple of times, sure he must be missing something, but gives in and turns to Enjolras. “Drawing yourself?”

“Oh, yeah,” Enjolras huffs a breathy laugh remarkably similar to Grantaire’s self-conscious one. But that’s ridiculous, because this is Enjolras, and he’s incredible. “I draw myself as a racoon. They’re cool, you know? And they always have their little masks.”

“Right, okay.” Grantaire can feel his cheeks hurting from his smile, and once again his mouth moves before his brain can catch up: “How would you draw me?”

Enjolras’s eyebrows raise with a surprised smile, then a serious expression comes on his face. From this close, Grantaire can see the way his eyes focus as Enjolras looks at him, head tilted to the side and hair falling in his face.

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” There’s no reason for Grantaire’s cheeks to start heating, but they’re doing it anyway. The plan to not embarrass himself isn’t working too well so far. His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he looks away from Enjolras to answer.

Bossuet: _Did you find beer?_  
_Taire?_  
_We need to be at Chetta’s soon. I can buy some if you need?_

Crap. To get to the party on time, he was going to have to leave now. His thumbs hover over the keyboard, waiting for the words to say he was on his way, when two very loud and very bad sounds echo through the room. He shut the screen off, and turns to where Enjolras is sat at the piano, wincing. His face must be an accurate reflection of his eardrums, because Enjolras starts speaking as soon as he looks up. “I never had lessons, but my mom, she used to play and sometimes she’d let me play along with her.” His fingers brush over the keys again, not pressing hard enough for any sound. “I don’t really know what I’m doing,” he adds, blushing.

Maybe Grantaire left his brain at school earlier, or maybe he’s just absolutely _gone_ for Enjolras, because as soon as he thinks it, he’s saying, “I can play a bit. Nothing impressive, no theme tunes or anything though.”

Enjolras stands from the piano and settles himself in the chair, looking at Grantaire expectantly. “It’s all yours,” he says, “if you want to?”

His phone buzzes again, and he doesn’t even look at the screen as he turns it off and slides onto the piano bench. He plays a few notes hesitantly and hears Enjolras settling back in the cushions. His fingers catch on a melody from somewhere in the past and muscle memory takes over as he lets his body move along to the chords, the music flowing out into the room. The silence after his last note seems heavy, or charged, and when he turns to look at Enjolras his breath sticks in his throat.

Enjolras is sitting forward, eyes sparkling and a gorgeous smile on his face, a smile that _he put there_. His heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest, and then Enjolras says “that was amazing” in a voice that sounds slightly breathless and he might actually be dead. “I wasn’t expecting that,” he continues, “I like being surprised.” Enjolras is still smiling, and if Grantaire wasn’t absolutely hopelessly crushing on him before, he is now.

“Thank you. It’s been a while,” Grantaire’s struggling to string words together to make full sentences. Enjolras either hasn’t noticed or is taking pity on him, because he offers Grantaire a drink and they move to the sofa.

He’s not completely sure how long they sit there for, but by the time Enjolras’s phone screen lights up, the world outside is dark. “-And that’s why I think The Beatles are - _shit_.”

“What’s up?”

Enjolras doesn’t take his eyes off the phone in front of him as he stands. “I’m so sorry, I’m supposed to be meeting Combeferre and I completely forgot.”

“It’s okay,” Grantaire replies, shifting forward on the sofa and placing his glass on the table. From this angle, Enjolras’s head is haloed by the soft light slipping in from the hallway.

“I really didn’t want to make you leave like this, I didn’t realise what time it is.” Enjolras turns to him apologetically, breaking Grantaire out of his staring.

“Don’t worry about it, I should probably head to that party too.”

“Ah, okay, do you mind going now?”

“No problem.” Grantaire pulls on his jacket and grabs Enjolras’s beer, following Enjolras down the stairs and out onto the street.

Enjolras turns and gives him the serious contemplative look again, the one that started this entire evening. “So, this was great. We should do it again sometime?”

Grantaire’s knee-jerk reaction is “Of course, whenever.”

Enjolras breaks into a smile that lights up the night, and leans forward. “You have -”, his arm brushes Grantaire’s hair, and all the air is pulled from his lungs when Enjolras stands back. “Fluff. Do you need the metro?”

He takes a second to relearn the rules of earth and remember how to speak, so vaguely points over his shoulder. “I’ll get the bus.”

“Okay. See you?” Enjolras smiles as he walks away, leaving Grantaire looking after him and hoping Enjolras is still thinking about him too. “Yeah, see you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a fic in nearly three years, it took a while to dust off this account!! If you liked it please comment, thank you for reading!


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